


Let The Cries Wander Off

by griners



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF, gerlonso - Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-08
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-21 22:39:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3706515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/griners/pseuds/griners
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with a Champions League final and it ends with a Champions League final.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let The Cries Wander Off

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a long time ago and I kinda still cry a bit.

May, 2005

(Bliss.)

-

October, 2004

Xabi likes the smell of the grass better than the beach near his home and it shakes him to the core. He feels his feet getting used to the bumpy ground he walks on and his eyes know the clouds in the sky like his heart knows the chants of Anfield- it scares him, it scares him.

Xabi confesses this to the first person he sees (he’ll regret it for the rest of his life, but we’ll get there). Steven listens until his ears are bleeding of homesickness and he holds his eyes until he breaks the ice he no longer wants to slide upon with a straight back and a painful pose, asks “Do I scare you too?”

Xabi knows what to answer but not if he should. Xabi knows it’s different in England.

(It’s not the heart that works here (it’s the mind) and that’s funny, he reasons, because his is beating like the crowds roar in the presence of a goal.)

“You scare me the most.”

Steven sits next to him and admits he isn’t that strong, either.

-

This is not a romance story. This is about time travel and change (be warned, this isn’t love).

-

July, 2007

The wedding is beautiful (neither Xabi nor Steven have ever seen anything quite like it). Alex is gorgeous enough to be the sun in a ravishing winter.

Steven is straightening his tie for the third time in the last five minutes. The knob swirls and Xabi closes the door behind him, looks at Stevie through the mirror and strains to overlook the hesitancy. Steven turns to him and Xabi begs him in a silent agreement not to ask about what is right and what is wrong (‘ _Can I kiss you?_ ’).

“Am I ready?”

“To get married, yes,” Xabi nods calmly (he’s fervent inside) and slides his hands into his pockets (his lids are heavy and he feels like the rain). “To spend your life with her? You tell me.”

Steven can’t tell him anything so he says “Call me when you get to Spain.” He knows he won’t stay for the wedding because he knows Xabi (Xabi knows him too and he isn’t surprised).

“I will.” And the words are hard to roll off, “Have a nice wedding.”

-

May, 2005

(There’s a story behind this.)

Steven kisses Alex in front of Xabi (it’s not the first mistake he makes). He keeps his eyes closed because it’s mechanical and polite and he’s afraid he’ll find Xabi’s eyes burning a hole on the ground. Alex plants a kiss on his cheek before she leaves and smiles, and it’s so innocent and bright and good Steven nearly collapses with the weight of it.

When he looks up Xabi’s walking away into solitude and Steven runs after him until his legs strain because Xabi’s running too. He feels like he’s been sentenced to death for a sin he hasn’t committed (but he knows he has) and Xabi stops abruptly, turns to him and pushes him back with a fury he rarely sees on him.

“That was not okay,” Xabi grunts out and Steven nods because he’s right and he wishes he could undo time. “Listen to me, I don’t fucking care who you kiss, as long as you don’t do it in front of me- I swear to God, Steven-“

Steven grabs him and kisses him but it’s all for himself because Xabi’s words strike him like fire and their kisses could soothe a hurricane. Steven doesn’t let go and Xabi doesn’t either and they stay like that until someone shouts that they’re late for training.

“Even if you leave,” Steven whispers that night, and Xabi turns in the sheets to look at him. “I’ll always be- always be here. I won’t go anywhere.”

Xabi’s breathing shakes with what he’s asking of him. “I don’t know if I’d do the same.”

“I don’t care,” Steven says and rasps his teeth against his neck, leaves his lips against his pulse (against his heart), “You can leave but I won’t. And that’s horrible but we’ve always been a lost cause.”

Xabi nods and closes his eyes. “I’ll love you even in Spain.”

Steven looks up and places his hand on Xabi’s chest, makes sure he feels the warmth on his skin as he says- “The last one to leave closes the door.”

Xabi stares at the ceiling and asks if the door will be closed forever. Steven murmurs that all that matters is that it’s closed now.

-

June, 2010

He finds him in San Sebastian and pretends he wasn’t expecting it. It could have been good- great, healthy, he could have tapped Xabi on the shoulder and smile like he was supposed to and laugh like he was supposed to and promise a meal that would never happen like he was supposed to.

Instead he taps him on the shoulder, and his brain aches with the restrain to push him against the glass window and taste lips he now only dreamt of.  Xabi turns and drops his bag, slides a hand into his neck and kisses him like they were the world (and the world was alone).

“How are the kids?”

Xabi takes a drag out of his cigarette and laughs in amusement. He turns on the pillows. “You never cared about the kids, Steven.”

“That’s not true.”

Xabi eyes him with eternal sympathy and says, “No, it’s not. You just cared about me more.”

_(“Or maybe you didn’t and you’re just selfish. Just selfish.”)_

Steven shakes his head and presses his palms into his eyes. “We were reckless, still are, but it doesn’t mean we don’t care.”

Xabi stays quiet, and Steven decides he can’t believe what he’s saying.

-

August, 2008

“Tell me you won’t be ok if I leave.”

Steven doesn’t look away from his locker. “I won’t.”

“Tell me you don’t want me to leave.”

“I don’t.” the metal reflects the sharpness of his eyes.

“You’re going cold again.”

Steven feels like a blade is piercing him from the inside out and his breath is knocked out of him; his lungs strain with lack of a heart and it’s beating loudly in his ears. He turns. “I am.”

“Does that mean I’m really leaving?”

Steven doesn’t remember how to speak and Xabi’s face doesn’t help (Steven knows those lines like the streaks of Anfield and his hands clench with that knowledge) “I don’t know. I don’t know.”

Xabi nods and walks away. Steven sinks to his knees and wonders how he let himself into this.

-

January, 2009

His hands are freezing and he thinks maybe he caught something on the plane that made him sick (his hands have never been warm, but never like this). Steven shakes it off and they play and they win, but he’s careful enough not to brush his hands against Xabi’s shoulder or Xabi’s waist or Xabi’s neck (he tells himself it’s because of the press).

His hands start to shake at around 5 in the afternoon. He feels like they’re under ice water for the rest of the day and he welcomes the cold weather when he leaves to the pub that night (he has an excuse). He sits on a table with the team and ignores the fact that the beer in front of him is twice as hot as his body and curses his inability to control the shaking.

Xabi looks at him exactly once (he’s counting). He’s careful enough not to brush his hands against Steven but for an entirely different reason.

(“Alright there?” he could have asked, and Steven would have slurred out a “Yes, no worries eh?” that would have been broken in the middle and shattered on its edges and it would have sounded more like a “No.”)

Carra slaps him on the back and he jolts, tries not to widen his eyes too much and to make sure there’s enough of him present to reply (the rest of him has gone away for the time being). Carra takes another gulp of his beer and laughs out “Mate, there’s a fooking hot blond making eyes at you over ther’, you gotta be careful aight’?”

He nods but he’s too focused on the pounds of ice he seems to be holding. Xabi looks at the exit and sets his jaw.

Steven ends up walking to the bar and realizing the girl is the fakest kind of beautiful he’s ever laid eyes on (and he doesn’t compare her to Alex). He fucks her on the car and tries not to touch her anywhere and she seems far too pleased to even care.

He falls on top of her and his hands stop shaking but his body doesn’t, and he thinks cheating on his wife with no one meaningful is even worse than cheating with someone you’re in love with.

(Xabi goes cold all over.)

-

It’s not always like this. Time cures all wounds (except theirs).

-

February, 2013

Steven goes to bed with a sinking stomach and a phone that won’t stop lighting up in the dark. When he finally decides to shut him up he grabs the phone, takes the call and says- “I don’t want to hear it.”

Xabi shudders “I know,” and “You changed. We didn’t use to say these things.”

Steven smashes the phone against the wall and thinks _yes_ and _yes_.

(They’re out.)

-

The present hurts the most (they live in the past). We’re obliged to tell the story.

-

April, 2014

Lisbon’s never been good to him.

( _“You couldn’t have come here. This is my fucking family we’re talking about. Get out. Get out!”_

_“I needed to-“ helpless, “I needed to say. I. Thank you. I may go to hell for this but kissing you is already hell so why not make the best of it.”_

_A look of despair, “What are you saying?”_

_“I love you. Is that okay?”_

_No.)_

“I think I’m gonna be there.” he breathes into the phone, and this is an apology. “I hope you get to the final.” ( _Please be in the final_ -)

Xabi never replies to his voicemail.

-

January, 2013

“This gonna be your year?” Xabi laughs during the call and it’s light and easy but only at the surface.

( _We don’t talk about Liverpool that way, you know that. You love the club and the people and the city too much, you know that (so don’t try to tone it down because you know, you know). You love me too much (did you know that?_ ))

“Of course,” Steven says gruffly but he smiles. “When are you coming back?”

“Next year,” he jokes, but there’s something- something like hope- maybe?, and Xabi wonders what it is (there’s something).

“We’ll win it next year, then,” Steven murmurs, and doesn’t allow himself to regret it.

-

(They choose to remember their firsts (instead of their lasts)).

September, 2004

Steven kisses him at sunset because he’s seen too many movies for his well-being and Xabi lets him because he wants to. His stomach tumbles around and his hands burn on Stevie’s neck and it’s simple and beautiful and the movies were right all along.

September, 2009

Goodbyes have become their sunsets (stomachs tumbling, hearts beating in their palms, tragically beautiful).

-

May, 2014

He goes to press send when Alex comes in with a look that speaks volumes. Steven doesn’t hit send and calls instead, feels anger bubbling up and his throat refusing air and his eyes being set on fire.

When Xabi picks up he imagines something else- (“Fucking better-“ he crashes their lips hard enough to bruise and sinks his teeth into his shoulder until Xabi’s moaning out of pain, “How can you fucking say that, fucking-“ he pulls his hair and Xabi’s murmuring toxic apologies and there’s regret swimming in his features but he doesn’t let go, he presses closer to Steven and kisses the wounds his words have left and whispers he never really meant it (never- never meant it). “You are better, you will always be- you know that.”)

(This isn’t real).

“I think Carra might have been a little hurt,” (he doesn’t mean _a little_ and he doesn’t mean Carra). “He was crumping up like a fucker right at the end of it and then to hear that on TV, man,” he laughs but it’s not funny at all, and Xabi doesn’t seem to think so either.

“I wasn’t thinking,” and there. That’s all the confirmation he needs.

He wants to- (“Fuck you because we fucking won it after being down three nil and you fucking _tied_ the game- you scored on the most magical fucking night in your life and then you go to national TV all drunk on power and spanish football and say it wasn’t as good? Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me?! Learn your fucking priorities, Alonso.”

(And Xabi, he doesn’t know what to say, but he didn’t mean it.)

He wants this.)

“Yeah,” Stevie breathes. “So was it?”

“Hmm?”

“Better?”

There’s silence (but not because of what Steven needs it to be). Xabi says, “La Decima was-“ (and Steven wants to scream and shout and break his phone on the stone floor) “Better. I’m sorry.”

“We got off at the right time then, didn’t we?”

(And Xabi wants to say, “There was never a right time for us,” but Steven’s right.)

“I’m sorry I closed the door,” he chokes, and Steven remembers a long ago night.

“I think I closed it before you, mate.”

They hang up with closure on their faces (and that’s that).

-

(Steven goes to visit him in Spain a month later, because he always remembers to leave a window open when he closes a door.)


End file.
